Facets of Honor
by SGAFan
Summary: Honor comes in many forms. When his trust is betrayed, John is forced to evaluate his… and his team’s. Summaries… definitely not my forte. ;


_**Facets of Honor**_

"_Trust only movement. Life happens at the level of events, not of words. Trust movement."_

_~ Alfred Adler_

* * *

"Prime."

"Ha! That's…" Rodney's voice trailed off for a second, "umm… right."

John's smile turned smug as he led his team away from the gate and through the tall grass. He looked around for a second. Open space surrounded them, with no trees in sight between them and the village on the horizon, although the rooftops were barely visible over the chest high grass. In a way, it was refreshing. Lately, it'd seemed like planet after planet they'd visited was forested, and he was starting to wonder if the Lanteans ever built gates in any other climate.

Rodney's voice recaptured his attention. "3491."

John's brows quirked as he started down the wide, dirt path that cut a swath through the grass. "91 huh? Nice try. Prime." Behind him, he heard Rodney's exasperated sigh. "Face it, McKay. You're not gonna get me on this one."

"Don't laugh too easily, Colonel." Rodney pulled up next to him and matched his stride. "The day is still young."

John looked sideways at him. "If you think I'm going to play 'prime not prime' all day with you, you're crazy."

"I'll second that," Ronon chipped in as he casually walked along behind Teyla.

Rodney looked back at him. "Just because you don't have any appreciation for the fascinating mathematical principle of numbers only divisible by themselves and one, doesn't mean…."

"McKay…," John interrupted.

"What?"

"Shut up," John advised as he continued walking, "before Ronon shows his interest in division by splitting you in half."

"I hardly think that…." Rodney's voice trailed off as a distinctly audible growl came from Ronon's direction. "Right, shutting up," he muttered.

John chuckled quietly. "So, Teyla, visiting these good people was your idea. I'm always up for making friends with the neighbors, but what we really need is some intel on the Wraith."

"Yes, Colonel," Teyla agreed. "But the Hethians may be able to assist us in that matter as well."

"How?" Rodney interjected. "Because all I see are huts, fields and a bunch of farmers."

John silently agreed, as the great swaths of grass started giving way to patches of crops.

"Looks can be deceptive, Dr. McKay," Teyla responded patiently, "especially in the shadow of the Wraith. Or have you forgotten about the Genii?"

"Good point," John conceded as they left the grass and started down a dirt path leading directly towards the village.

"The Hethians trade with a great number of people in the galaxy. That means they have access to a wealth of information," Teyla continued. "My mother spoke of them more than once as a source of information should the need arise."

"My people knew of them too," Ronon added.

"Being known as a source of information," John mused, "doesn't that make things dangerous for them?" He looked back at Teyla, who nodded.

"You are correct, Colonel. There are many in the galaxy, such as the Genii, that would have taken advantage of the Hethians long ago. Only to a select few are they more than just traders. Information is only given to those that have earned their trust." She looked around, her expression reflective. "My people have known the Hethian people for generations and have earned a place in that circle." She glanced at Ronon. "The Satedans as well, it would appear." Her gaze returned to John and she smiled. "And through us, they will learn to trust you as well. There is much the Hethians may know."

John returned her smile. "Good enough for me." Lengthening his stride slightly, he continued down the path. With the Wraith embroiled in a civil war, the heat had been taken off them at least a little, aided by the secrecy of the city's existence, but John was never one to be complacent. Almost two years in the Pegasus galaxy fighting the Wraith had only reinforced that attitude. Things had almost been _too_ quiet lately; instead of comforting him, it only made him more wary that they were about to be blindsided by something. As the old saying went, it was quiet. Too quiet.

He kept the same pace, and his quiet, as they entered the village. Around them, some of the people going about their business paused long enough to look at him and his team, their expressions ranging from curious to wary. Each time John made eye contact, he smiled politely. He couldn't blame them for their unease. In this galaxy being cautious tended to keep you alive.

He glanced back at Teyla. "Any idea where we're going?"

She nodded. "The village center is where we will likely find the leaders."

John nodded back absently and walked on. He hadn't led them much further before a tall man distinguished himself from the other villagers by walking directly towards them. John stopped, his gaze narrowing slightly but he held onto the polite if guarded expression he'd adopted, although his hands held strong to his lowered P-90. The man had the solid build of someone who had spent his life working the land and his gaze was confident, if wary. Sharp, green eyes stood out from his deeply tanned face and he tossed his head once, flinging back his medium length black hair.

John glanced across at Teyla as she hurried up next to him, and smiled and waved her hand in greeting at the man who approached. "Marka."

The man's neutral gaze fled, replaced by a wide smile of his own as he closed the final few steps between them. "Teyla Emmagan. It has been many days."

"Too many," Teyla answered, before gripping forearms with him in greeting.

John adjusted his smile to something more friendly as she stepped back and motioned at him.

"These are my friends. Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard, Doctor Rodney McKay and Ronon Dex." Teyla indicated each of them as she named them, before she looked back at Marka. "They have my trust… and are worthy of yours."

Marka's expression sobered slightly as he looked down at Teyla. "For many generations, the Athosians have been our trusted ally," he said, his tone measured. "Trust is not something that either of our peoples give lightly. Your word carries great value." He looked back at John and extended his hand. "Welcome to our village."

John took a step forward and returned the grip, his fingers closing around Marka's forearm. "Thanks. Glad to meet you."

Marka let go and gestured towards the village. "Come. Let us find a place where we can talk, for it would seem you are here to trade for more than just goods." He turned and started towards the village.

John's brows knitted as he looked at Teyla, but she just smiled and shrugged before starting off behind Marka, Ronon right behind her.

"You sure we can trust these guys?" Rodney asked as he walked along beside John.

John looked at him. "Why? Don't you?"

"Well they feel a lot like…. I don't know… mercenaries? Information available to the highest bidder?"

John shrugged. Rodney sort of had a point, but also seemed a little paranoid. Still, with how vital it was that Atlantis' existence stay secret…. "Teyla and Ronon trust them," he answered. "And Teyla said they don't share information with anyone but their inner circle. That's good enough for me."

"I know," Rodney answered, "but Teyla trusted the Genii too…."

"Rodney," John interrupted, "we can't go into every 'Meet and Greet' paranoid that someone is going to double cross us."

Rodney's sigh was slightly exasperated. "I know that too…"

"Still," John interrupted again. He looked over at Rodney. "We probably don't need to talk about Atlantis… at least, not yet." His attention was drawn forward again, as Ronon abruptly stopped, his back stiffening. John lengthened his stride and came up next to him, following Ronon's gaze to a loud group of people occupying several tables in the village square. John watched them for a moment, before looking up at Ronon in time to see his friend's mouth split into a rare, wide smile. "What is it?" he asked.

Ronon held onto his smile. "Satedans."

"What?" Rodney sounded startled.

Apparently sensing that the rest of the group had stopped, Marka and Teyla turned. Seeing they had fallen behind, they walked back to them.

"Is something wrong?" Marka's expression had turned a little suspicious.

John rubbed the corner of his mouth and pointed at the group. "Those people. Are they Satedan?"

"I told you, they are." Ronon stepped around him and headed straight for them.

"They are," Marka confirmed. "They came here not long ago, looking for a place to live. Many of them are ex-military and help protect our village when other… less friendly travelers come through the Ancestral Ring. In exchange, they live amongst us."

"Ronon's Satedan," John answered, a smile forming on his mouth at the turn of luck for his friend. "Ex-military."

"Indeed!" Marka's smile matched John's. "They will undoubtedly be happy to see him. There are so few Satedans left." His smile faded away and he inhaled deeply. "Come. I will introduce all of you."

John walked along next to Marka as they made their way towards the Satedans, but they'd only gone a half dozen steps before the mood abruptly changed.

John saw one Satedan, his size rivaling Ronon's, threw a fist in Ronon's gut hard enough to bend him over, while another kicked the back of his knee. I and in an instant, Ronon was flat on the ground. The Satedan who'd thrown the punch tossed his head defiantly, his long blond dreadlocks flipping back from his face.

John didn't even think, he just reacted, his P-90 practically lifting on its own accord. "Hey!" He broke into a run, Rodney and Teyla right behind him. He slammed on the brakes about ten feet from the group and leveled his P-90 right at the Satedan who'd punched Ronon. Almost in unison, the rest of the Satedans drew guns. The next thing he knew, John was facing the business end of about 50 weapons of varying origin, but all equally lethal.

_Not good_.

John stood his ground, his gun never wavering. From the corner of his eye, he saw Rodney and Teyla do the same. "What the hell is going on here?" he demanded.

"Colonel," Marka started, "I do not…."

"Stay back," John interrupted sharply, not looking at the man. He glared at the big Satedan, his gaze shifting only once to glance at Ronon, who was slowly getting to his feet. To John's surprise, Ronon didn't draw his gun, only stood silently. "Could use your help on this one, Big

Guy," John had returned his dark look to the other Satedans, but Ronon's deep, almost resigned sigh wasn't lost on him.

"No," Ronon answered evenly. "If I draw, they'll kill all of us."

"Since when did 'oh look! It's my people' turn into 'they're going to kill us'?" Rodney complained.

John quirked a brow in agreement. "Okay," he answered dryly. "Someone want to fill me in?"

Ronon slowly turned his head and John, glancing across at him again, met his gaze. In that instant, he knew he was about to hear something he didn't want to hear: Ronon's expression was stoic, but a hint of resignation and even regret colored it. He lowered his head just a little, and the gesture only deepened the intensity of his stare.

"These men and women, warriors to the last, were loyal to Kell," Ronon said, his voice deep and firm.

John's eyes flicked to his right at the sharp intake of breath from Teyla, and he saw her jaw drop in shock as her gaze raked over the Satedans. He put aside his confusion over her reaction and looked back at Ronon. "Who's Kell?"

"Was," Ronon corrected. "I killed him for betraying Sateda."

John tensed, his finger curling around the trigger of his P-90 as the Satedans stirred, muttering angrily. A couple prodded Ronon with the ends of their guns, but Ronon's expression remained un-cowed.

The big Satedan who'd hit Ronon took a step forward and stood toe to toe with him. "He was not a traitor! He saved all our lives!"

Ronon leaned forward, practically touching noses with the man. "He sacrificed thousands of his own men to the Wraith to protect himself! Warriors loyal to him! Warriors who could have saved innocent women and children! Their lives were forfeited to save his cowardly hide!"

The Satedan took one giant step back and grabbed his gun.

"Hey!" John moved forward, gaining the man's attention before his gun completely cleared the holster. John flicked on his laser sight and tagged the man in the chest. "Even if I go down, I'll kill you first. Got it?"

The Satedan's eyes narrowed and he seemed to measure John up for a moment, before he looked down at the red laser bead on his chest. Slowly, he allowed his gun to slide back into its holster.

John took a deep breath and looked back at his teammate. "Ronon? Now would be a good time to give me a little detail here."

"We don't have to waste time with this!" Another Satedan stepped forward. "Ronon Dex gunned down Kell in cold blood while she," he pointed an accusing finger at Teyla, "looked on!" He lowered the hand he was pointing with and raised his gun with the other, aiming it at John. "You're heavily outnumbered and you're in no position to be giving orders." He glanced at the big Satedan. "Narok, let's just kill all of them and be done with it."

Narok held up his hand, restraining his comrade, but he continued glaring at John.

The gun… okay, several guns pointed at his head held all of John's attention, but if he'd been able to spare the time, he would have looked at Teyla. As it was, he was struggling to process what he'd heard and still keep a level head. _Ronon? Teyla? Murder…?_ "Ronon," he struggled to keep his voice even. "What the hell is he talking about?"

He was aware of Ronon staring back at him and, after a moment, shaking his head slowly without saying a word.

"It was on Belkan," Teyla said quietly. "As we told you, we discovered there were Satedans that had survived the Wraith and fled to other worlds. Solin Sencha told us of Kell, and Ronon asked for a meeting with him."

"Teyla didn't know I was going to kill him until I did it," Ronon interjected.

"Enough." Narok glared at Ronon as he spat the word at him. "You and the woman must surrender now, or all of you will die."

"I don't think so." John kept his expression resolute, even as his mind raced.

"John," Teyla started to protest, but John wasn't going to have anything to do with what he knew she was going to say.

"Teyla," he interrupted firmly, "it's not open to discussion."

"You'd be wise to reconsider." Narok gestured and John stiffened as he heard footsteps behind. Without turning, he knew they were surrounded, even before Rodney confirmed it.

"Uhh… problem." Out of the corner of his eye, John saw Rodney swing round and train his gun on whoever was behind them. More Satedans, John assumed.

Unmoving, John glared at Narok. "This doesn't change anything. If you think I'm going to stand by and do nothing while you kill two members of my team, you're mistaken."

"You're outgunned." Narok returned John's glare.

"Doesn't matter," John shot back. He took a deep breath and prepared himself to stand behind his words. Whatever Teyla and Ronon had done – and they'd be thoroughly explaining that if they all got out of this alive – they were still his friends and members of his team. He wouldn't let

this happen, not without a fight.

Abruptly, Marka stepped around him. "Stop!" he ordered, as he quickly crossed the space between John and Narok and halted in front of the big Satedan. "You will not gun down this man in cold blood."

John's grip on his gun tightened slightly as the Satedans around Narok shuffled, murmuring angrily.

Narok took a step closer to Marka. "It is our right."

Marka held his ground. "You are guests on this world," he pointed out coldly. "Our laws will not permit you to do this." He turned and looked at John. "But if there has been wrongdoing, then it must be investigated." His gaze moved on to Teyla and his expression turned regretful. "I am sorry, but Teyla Emmagan and Ronon Dex must be taken into custody until we can determine a proper course of action under our laws."

"Oh, you've got to be kidding…," Rodney started.

"McKay!" John silenced him with a warning glare. Two members of his team were already in trouble; he didn't need a third one joining them… at least not without making it a full team affair –something he had a feeling he was about to do. "I'm sorry, Marka." John shook his head. "I can't recognize your authority on this. I won't leave my people here to face trial."

Marka cocked his head slightly. "You and Doctor McKay may stay as observers. I assure you, our process is just and fair. But if you try to dishonor our laws and leave, I will allow the Satedans to stop you."

John stared back at Marka as he weighed his options. His lips tightened as he came to the only conclusion he could, even though it was one he didn't want to accept. Surrounded by Satedans, he knew his team had little or no chance of getting away.

"John…." Teyla spoke his name quietly as she slowly lowered her P-90, apparently coming to the same conclusion.

Even then, John wavered. Options be damned he couldn't stand by and let this happen. He looked over at her. "Teyla, don't...," he urged. But even as he spoke, he knew she wasn't going to listen. He could see the resigned look in her eye as she slowly crouched and placed her P-90 on the ground.

Across from her, Ronon very slowly lifted his gun from the holster and dropped it.

John gritted his teeth in frustration. He could see, at some level, why Teyla and Ronon were doing this. In a small way, he respected them for it – or, at least, he would've had he not been furious with the both of them right then. But with the two of them surrendering their arms, his already grim options just got a lot grimmer. Realizing he was helpless to do anything else, he took a deep breath and lowered his gun.

"John?" Rodney questioned.

John looked over his shoulder at him and nodded. "Lower your gun, Rodney."

"That is a wise choice, colonel." Marka walked over to him. "As observers, you must surrender your weapons."

John looked around, his gaze passing over the motionless Satedans that surrounded them. He returned his gaze to Marka, his expression turning cynical. "Well, you'll forgive me if I'm not at all fond of **that** idea." He looked pointedly at Narok, before looking back at Marka. "No. McKay and I keep our guns. That's the deal, and it's not negotiable."

Marka nodded once. "Very well. You have compromised. So will I. But you must not interfere, Colonel. That is also not negotiable."

John's gaze passed over both Teyla and Ronon, before he nodded once in acknowledgement.

"They will be taken to a holding cell," Marka explained, as several Satedans quickly finished disarming Teyla and Ronon. "You may speak in private with them there."

"Good," John answered. He stared hard at Ronon. "We have a lot to talk about." He looked back at Marka. "I need to go back to the gate and contact my people. Let them know what's going on."

Marka shook his head. "That is not possible. Not until Judgment is complete. We cannot risk any interference with the proceedings."

"I just need to apprise them of the situation," John insisted. "That's all. No funny business."

"I'm sorry, Colonel, I cannot allow that." Marka's tone was firm.

John pressed his lips together, but he nodded once in agreement. He could've pushed the matter further, but there was no need. If they didn't check in, Elizabeth would dial in and contact him, and he could bring her up to speed at that point. And, if necessary, have her send another team. In fact, if things went south with this Judgment thing, the unexpected arrival of another team could work to their advantage. He knew that if he didn't respond to her hail, she'd likely send a second team anyway. And while he hated not being able to warn them of what they might be stepping into, at the moment, he didn't seem to have a choice.

Refocusing his attention on Teyla and Ronon, he watched as they were marched off. Silently, he nodded at Rodney, and they both followed.

* * *

John felt as though someone had stuck a two-by-four up the back of his shirt. Tense and rigid, his arms crossed awkwardly over his P-90 that hung from his vest, he stared out the window of a small jailhouse his back to the cell holding Ronon and Teyla. A dozen thoughts flashed through his head, but he clung to enough control to know none of them were things he should be saying to his teammates. Maybe the fact he wasn't sure what he should say was why he refused to turn and look at them.

He inhaled deeply before letting the breath out noisily, while his emotions churned in him. He was mad, yes, but he also felt hurt and even betrayed. When he'd chosen both of them for his team, he'd automatically given them his trust. Before today, he'd never questioned that they'd give him the same trust in return. And that trust was a necessity given the life-and-death situations they seemed to end up in more often than not. They both had to have known that what they'd done could someday come back to bite all of them in the ass… but they hadn't told him, hadn't….

"I thought you said we had a lot to talk about?" Rodney's words broke into John's thoughts.

Silently, John turned his head and glared coldly at Rodney, who backed up a step.

"Okay," Rodney muttered. He set his P-90 down on the table that stood in the center of the jailhouse and sat down in a nearby chair. "Let me know when you're ready to do something besides admire the scenery."

"John," Teyla called quietly.

John clenched his teeth together before returning his gaze out the window and taking another deep breath, but other than that, he didn't move.

"John, we must talk about this," Teyla insisted, her voice still low.

"What the hell do you want me to say?" John's voice was equally quiet, but his anger was unmistakable. "You two killed a man in cold blood, and kept it from the rest of us, which put the entire team in danger. That about sum it up?"

"I did not think you would understand." Teyla's voice hardened slightly as she added, "It would seem that I was correct in that assumption."

"Teyla didn't know I was going to kill Kell until it was done," Ronon reminded John. "I put her in a hard spot. If you're going to blame anyone, blame me, not her."

John slowly turned, his grip on his anger tightening. "You think that's what this is all about? The blame game?" He walked over and stood close to the bars of the cell, his gaze passing between the two of them. "I'm not lookin' for someone to blame," he continued quietly. "I'm tryin' to figure out where the trust went." He crossed his arms over his chest. "And I'm wondering what else you haven't told me."

"Nothing," Teyla's tone was firm, though she still spoke quietly, while Ronon shook his head, his silent gesture reinforcing her words. "John, I am not in the habit of keeping secrets from you or Rodney, and I do not believe that Ronon is either."

"No." Ronon's confirmation was curt.

John again sighed deeply and looked away, his emotions raw. Teyla had been a member of his team for almost two years and at his back in more life or death situations than he could count. While Ronon had been with them for far less time, his dedication to the team had been proved more than once. That carried a lot of weight with John, but in the face of what had happened, only left him feeling conflicted.

There was silence until John once more looked back at Teyla. "How do you think the IOA would have reacted, had they known?" she asked immediately. She waved her hand back and forth between herself and Ronon. "They are already suspicious enough of both of us. Me because of what they see as… questionable genetics, and Ronon because he is new and because of the circumstances surrounding how we met him." Her gaze narrowed. "Do you believe they would have done nothing?"

Rodney let out a quiet snort. "She has a point. The IOA isn't exactly thrilled about having non-Earth personnel on Atlantis in the first place, especially on off-world teams. Only Elizabeth's insistence and Teal'c's track record have kept them from outright banning the practice."

John turned an angry look on Rodney, even though he knew it wasn't really justified. Rodney was only telling him what he already knew.

Rodney shook his head. "Don't. I'm not exactly happy about all of this either, but she," he pointed at Teyla, "does have a point, and you know it."

John looked at Ronon, who remained silent, his gaze neutral. John wanted nothing more than to say that the IOA didn't have to know, but he knew that wasn't the case. While not formally members of the military, Teyla and Ronon, at the insistence of the IOA, did still had service records, to track their activities while on Atlantis and as members of John's team. Because of the potential for this exact situation, he would've never been able to not report what had happened with Kell, even if he'd wanted to stay silent. Elizabeth wouldn't have stood for it. Because while there were rules and regulations that could be bent – and were bent routinely - some had to be adhered to absolutely, if either of he or Elizabeth wanted to stay on Atlantis. This was one of them: mission reports and service records were sacrosanct, and he knew it.

And then there was Ronon's status. It hadn't been so long ago that John had forgotten how he'd had to push first Elizabeth and then the IOA to allow Ronon to be on his team at all. He was relatively sure Elizabeth was past most of her apprehension, but there was no way the IOA was.

John sighed, some of his anger dissolving. He had no doubt Teyla had reached the same conclusion and was, at least at some level, protecting her teammate.

"I'm sorry." Ronon finally spoke, his gaze still glued to John's. John didn't reply, still not able to decide quite what he should say.

"What's with Narok's dreads, anyway?" Rodney asked. "None of the other Satedans have them, just you and him."

Ronon looked away from John and at Rodney. "He's a Specialist," he said, as if it explained everything. When Rodney gave him a confused look, Ronon added, "They were a badge of honor among a very small group of men that were brothers in everything but blood. Narok knew me on sight, and I knew him."

Before anyone could say anything more, the outer door opened. A Hethian woman and two Satedans walked in, stopped just inside the threshold.

"I am Nelia." The woman inclined her head slightly. "We are ready to begin the Judgment."

Silently, the two Satedans stepped around her and walked up to the jail cell.

Ronon stared evenly at them for a moment, before looking back at Nelia. "Don't need this. We won't make any trouble."

Nelia opened the outer door wider. "They will still accompany you to the Judgment Hall. For the Satedans, it is their right."

Without saying a word, both Satedan men pulled guns, and one of them unlocked the cell door.

John's hand slowly drifted down to grip his P-90, while his eyes stayed glued on the Satedans, but they only stood there, waiting for Teyla and Ronon to walk out of the cell. John let Nelia lead the way, Ronon and Teyla right behind her, and the Satedans behind them, while he and Rodney brought up the rear. That was right where John wanted to be. From that position, he could keep a constant eye on the two men with guns pointed at his teammates as Nelia led them.

"How long are we going to go along with this?" Rodney kept his voice low as they followed the others across the village square towards another, large building.

John shrugged slightly. "For now, we're all alive and no one is trying to kill us. When that changes, so will our level of co-operation."

"Think Elizabeth will send in Lorne's team?" Rodney glanced at him.

"Only if she can't contact us." John met Rodney's gaze. "Or if tell her to, which I might. Depends on how this 'Judgment thing' goes. If we can get Ronon and Teyla acquitted and leave here peacefully, I'll take it."

Rodney's gaze once more fixed on the broad backs of the Satedans. "Like that's going to happen," he answered cynically.

"The Hethians seem reasonable," John pointed out.

"The question is," Rodney sounded doubtful, "were Teyla and Ronon's actions reasonable?" He again looked at John, giving him a long, measured stare.

John met his gaze, sighed and looked away as they approached the building. He didn't have an answer, and he suspected Rodney already knew that.

Once they had climbed the steep set of stairs that led to the main door of the building and passed through it, John looked around. They were in what seemed to be a large antechamber, with an open double door into what looked like the Hethian version of a courtroom. He could see Marka and several others sitting behind a long table on a raised dais at the far end of the room.

Nelia stopped in front of the double doors, turned and gestured at John and Rodney. "You must leave your weapons here. They are not allowed in the Judgment Hall."

John looked at her for a moment, before his eyes shifted to the armed Satedans guarding his friends. He looked back at Nelia. "Are they going to disarm too?"

Nelia shook her head. "No. They are designated to guard the Accused, and are allowed to carry weapons into the Hall, but no one else is permitted." She gestured at a Hethian man standing by a table to one side of the double doors. "He will watch your weapons, and return them to you when you leave."

John shook his head. "No way."

Nelia cocked her head slightly as her gaze hardened. "Colonel, you will not be allowed into the Judgment Hall armed. You have our word that the Satedans will not harm your friends. Teyla Emmagan and Ronon Dex's safety during Judgment is above question."

"Colonel," Teyla spoke quietly but confidently, "we will be alright. The Hethians are trustworthy."

"It's not the Hethians I'm worried about," John answered tersely.

"John." Teyla's appeal to him was soft but straightforward.

John stared long and hard at her, before he exchanged a grim look with Rodney. Reaching a decision, he gave a brief nod of the head. Some points in this entire matter had been negotiable, some not… and he knew with certainty that this was not negotiable. If he kept his weapons, he wouldn't be able to observe the proceedings/ Right now that was more important.

Reaching up, he unclipped his P-90 and set it on a small table next to the silent Hethian man. His nine mil and knife followed, while Rodney did the same, placing his weapons next to John's.

Stepping back, John tried to quell the apprehension he felt at being totally disarmed as he followed Nelia and the others into the Judgment Hall. Inside the hall, a single line of chairs stretched along each side wall from one end to the other. Each chair was occupied: John saw a mix of Hethians and Satedans. He tensed slightly as, looking up the hall, his gaze settled on Narok, sitting stiffly in a chair just to the left of the dais and facing it. Nelia led them to four chairs arranged to the right of the platform and also facing it. "As Ronon Dex and Teyla Emmagan's companions, you may sit with them for these proceedings," she explained, "but you may not speak unless the Arbitrators ask you to."

John nodded and took the far seat. Rodney sat next to him while Teyla and Ronon sat in the first two seats. As soon as they were seated, the two Satedan guards walked to the far end of the dais, where they remained standing quietly but alertly.

Marka stood and raised his hands, instantly silencing the low murmur of hushed voices in the room.

"These proceedings will begin," he stated. He looked over at Teyla and Ronon. "Ronon Dex you stand accused of the murder of Commander Kell of Sateda. Teyla Emmagan, you stand accused of being an accomplice to this crime. As the accusations were lodged on our world, it falls within Hethian authority to determine if a crime was committed and, if so, the just punishment for said crimes. Stand now, and voice your plea."

Ronon and Teyla both slowly stood, but it was Ronon who spoke first. "I'm not guilty of committing murder." His gaze passed over Marka and his associates on the platform before his hard look settled on Narok, who glared back at him. "But I am guilty of carrying out long overdue justice."

Narok jumped to his feet, apparently ready to launch himself across the room to attack Ronon. John shot to his feet as well, but Ronon didn't even flinch.

"Halt!" Marka shouted. "Colonel Sheppard, be seated immediately or you will be removed from this hall. Specialist Narok Marsae, you will sit also, or these proceedings will end and judgment will be passed without debate."

John glared a moment longer at Narok, making it plain that he was only going to acquiesce because he'd been asked, not because he was cowed, before he slowly sat back down.

Narok looked at Marka, his gaze measured. It looked like he believed that judgment would be in his favor and that he wasn't convinced sitting down change anything.

John leaned forward, ready to jump to his feet again if necessary, and Marka glanced at him, before he looked back at Narok. His gaze narrowed. "Do not assume that we would rule in your favor," he warned.

Narok stiffened in surprise, apparently not expecting that. The calculation in his gaze intensified for a moment, before he gave a shrug and again took his seat.

Marka looked at Teyla. "How do you plead, Teyla Emmagan?"

John's gaze fixed on Teyla and he had to literally bite his tongue not to say anything. He felt helpless; forced into the role of an observer, powerless to do anything while both Ronon and Teyla's fates were determined. Yes, she had kept everything from him and Rodney, although that wasn't a crime she should be standing trial for… not here, anyway. At the same time, he had to admire her loyalty. In her shoes, he'd have probably done the same thing. The two perspectives warred within him… even as he resigned himself to being able to do nothing but watch.

While he waited for Teyla to make her plea, he looked around, taking in the lay of the room and mulling over the possibilities if this all went to hell in a hand basket. He had to admit, with the four of them unarmed, none of the prospects were that promising.

"She didn't know what I was going to do." Ronon spoke before Teyla could reply. "She hasn't done anything wrong. If you want to try someone, then try me, but leave her out of this."

John's gaze returned to his Pegasus teammates. He saw Teyla reach out, her hand settling on Ronon's forearm.

"Ronon, no."

"Teyla Emmagan, is this true?" Marka asked, his tone pointed.

Teyla took a deep breath and faced Marka. "I will stand in this Judgment with my teammate," she answered, her voice resolute. "My plea is not guilty."

Marka picked up two sticks and struck them together, the loud crack echoing around the hall. "With pleas of not guilty, it falls to the accuser to prove his claim." He waved at Narok. "Come forth and make your case."

Narok stood and walked to the dais. He faced Marka for a moment, before he turned and walked the length of the platform. "Ronon Dex murdered Commander Kell in cold blood. The proof I have is an eyewitness' account." He waved back towards the side of the room he came from.

John's gaze followed his gesture and settled on the same Satedan that had spoken up during their standoff.

As the man got to his feet and approached Narok, John studied him, slightly surprised by his appearance. He was short compared to most of his male companions, and he didn't have the outward look of a warrior. However, as John scrutinized him more closely, he realized that appearances were skin deep. The man's gait was light, each step poised and balanced, so that he could spring into action at any moment. John quickly concluded that he wouldn't want to face this guy in a fight, despite his slight stature.

The man stopped next to Narok and looked up at the Arbitrators. Narok waved a hand at him. "This is Jeron Dor. First Leader of the second strike force under the command of Kell."

John glanced sideways at Teyla, who nodded back.

"He was on Belkan," she confirmed quietly.

John returned his attention to the proceedings as Jeron turned and fixed an accusing glare on Teyla.

"I was with Commander Kell when he was ambushed. The woman, Teyla, was the bait. She sent the request to meet him, and lured him into the trap. Ronon Dex hid until the last second, and then made his presence known. He gunned down the Commander before any of us could intervene."

Ronon abruptly stood. "And I told anyone in that room that if they thought Kell should be avenged, they could kill me where I stood." He cocked his head. "Why didn't you do it then?"

"Ronon Dex," Marka interrupted. "Sit down. You will have a chance to tell your story, as will Teyla Emmagan. For now, you will not interrupt these proceedings. Have I made myself clear?"

Ronon's dark look seethed with frustration, but he sat down without a word.

Jeron faced the hall full of people. "Commander Kell kept all of the Satedans in this room alive. We escaped Sateda and the Wraith together, so we could live to fight against them another day. And fight we have!"

Narok put his hand on Jeron's shoulder for a moment, before the younger Satedan quietly walked back to his seat.

John sat back in his chair and rubbed his eyes. Neither he or Rodney – or even Teyla – really knew anything about Satedan culture or their justice system, or how very different that might be from the way things would done back on Earth, but it sounded like what Ronon had done wasn't the way Satedans handled things. The internal conflict John felt deepened: while Ronon was a member of his team, and part of him clung resolutely to the trust that came with that bond, he knew how deadly Ronon could be and knew that the Satedan had spent seven years dispensing justice as he saw fit. Granted, that had been against the Wraith, but Ronon had still been judge, jury and executioner. Could he have misjudged Ronon's character so much? John's thoughts turned to Teyla and he felt a little comforted. No, he couldn't have been that mistaken, because if Teyla had thought for one moment that what Ronon had done was wrong, she would've never stayed silent about it. In this sea of uncertainty, that was one thing he didn't doubt for a second.

"Specialist Narok Marsae, do you have anything else you wish to add?" Marka's words broke John's thoughts.

Narok took a deep breath and shook his head, his dreads swaying. "No."

"Then be seated." Marka gestured at Narok's chair. He looked over at Ronon. "Ronon Dex, you will speak first."

John glanced at Rodney out of the corner of his eye as Rodney leaned closer.

"An eyewitness? Granted a clearly biased one, but still… an eyewitness." Rodney whispered. "He even half convinced me. Somehow, I don't think this 'Judgment thing' as you so eloquently put it, is going so well."

John's only reply was to silently arch a brow at him. Inside, he agreed, and half suspected that Rodney knew it. Returning his attention to the proceedings, he watched as Ronon approached where Marka sat on the far side of the table.

Marka's expression was neutral as he looked at Ronon. "You may speak on your behalf, and we will listen."

Ronon turned, his gaze passing over the hall, his eyes lingering on the Satedans present. "Many of you know me by name," he stated matter-of-factly, and several of the Satedans muttered and nodded. "Before the destruction of our world, Satedan honor was my life. And after, as a Runner, the warrior code and my hatred of the Wraith kept me alive for seven years." He turned and looked at Marka. "Let me tell you of Satedan honor; the code of a warrior to protect the innocent, of a commander to protect his men… even with his own life. To understand what I did, you must understand the depth of Kell's betrayal."

Marka was still for a moment, before he nodded. "Context is important," he agreed. "Proceed."

"Kell was my Task Master." Ronon swept his gaze along the line of Marka's fellow Arbitrators as he spoke. "In Satedan society, there is no closer bond. Kell set my feet on the warrior's path, and forged me into the fighter that I became. "When the Wraith attacked Sateda, I used those skills to fight and to protect the innocent. And he…. He did not."

"You lie!" Narok shouted.

Marka opened his mouth – John guessed, or hoped, to rebuke Narok - but Ronon responded before Marka could. "I do not!" he shouted back. He strode over to Narok and glared down at him. "On dawn of the second day of the attack, the Wraith had overrun the southern sector of Pergon." Looking up at Marka, he added for the benefit of the Arbitrators, "it was a city. The Ancestral Ring was there." He looked back at Narok. "Orders came down from Kell to my strike team and to dozens of others like us: escort any surviving civilians to the Ring, and Kell's main force would reinforce us as we pressed forward." His jaw tightened, a twitch racing up his cheek. "We knew many of us would die, but we would allow the innocent to escape to safety."

John watched as Ronon stepped back and his angry gaze turned tragic. For all Ronon's fortified emotional walls, there was a pain inside that not even he could hide this time, and John saw it.

Ronon looked up, and across the hall, his gaze finding every Satedan there before he spoke again, slowly and clearly. "The reinforcements never came. The Wraith intercepted us before we were able to even get close to the gate." Ronon's voice rose, a slight shake in it betraying his weakening grip on his control over the emotions he'd held inside for the past seven years. "We were trapped, surrounded and outnumbered. We tried to lead people through the city, tried to lose the Wraith, but the more we ran and fought, the more people we lost. Old widows of past war, heroes, the sick, the weak… the very young, and their parents who wouldn't leave them behind." Ronon's voice broke slightly on the last word, but he plowed on. "We couldn't stop. Couldn't go back, or everyone with us would've been taken. We had a duty to try to save the ones we could…."

He bowed his head, averting his face from the gazes on him as he drew in one shaky breath after another, fortifying his composure. His voice was low when he finally managed to continue. "Kell sacrificed thousands of his men, along with innocents, to divert the Wraith while he escaped." Abruptly his back stiffened and he looked up, waving vigorously at the men who lined the hall, his hand trembling. "While _you_ escaped, _my_ men were killed!" His voice rose in anger. "I watched women and children die, and then I was culled, turned into a Runner for the Wraith's sport! All because Kell betrayed his honor to save his own worthless hide." His gaze pinned Narok. "Don't think for a second that he wouldn't have sacrificed any of _you_ in the blink of an eye if it meant his survival!"

Abruptly, Ronon's shoulders slumped, the fight seeming to go out of him. When he spoke again, it was with quiet stoicism. "So think about that," he said softly, "when you think about where your loyalties lie."

For the first time during the proceedings, the room was completely silent. Ronon's head was again lowered, his dreads hiding his face and his expression, but John couldn't take his eyes off him. Sympathy squelched his own anger and pain at what he felt was Ronon's betrayal of him. And as Ronon's words sunk in, John honestly wondered whether, in Ronon's place, he wouldn't have done the same thing.

His gaze shifted to Narok and his eyes narrowed slightly. The seething, boiling anger that had been so apparent on Narok's face previously was gone. It had been replaced with an emotionless stoicism that made his expression and his thoughts impossible to read. John studied Narok, wondering what he would do next until Marka spoke, recapturing John's attention.

"Specialist Ronon Dex, do you have anything more you wish to say?"

John watched Ronon slowly turn and look up, his face etched with pain.

"No," he said quietly.

Marka sat back in his chair. "Your story is a tragic one, Ronon Dex." He shook his head. "If that is indeed how things happened then, by our laws, your actions were justified." His gaze passed down the line of Arbitrators and each nodded in agreement. Marka looked back at Ronon. "But in Judgment, we only have your word against Narok Marsae's. There is no proof… for either case."

Ronon stared at Marka for a moment, before he reached into his dreads and pulled out a long, thin, knife.

John stiffened, adrenaline surging through him. Ronon had shown he could be unpredictable, especially if he thought what he was doing was right. John exchanged a worried look with McKay and then Teyla as all of them shifted forward in their chairs.

Marka stiffened as well, and the sound of restless shuffling echoed through the quiet room as the Satedans also reacted. Ronon ignored it as he reversed the knife and slowly placed it on the table in front of the Arbitrators. Reaching into his left vambrace, he pulled a second knife and placed it next to the first one, before he extracted a third knife from its hiding place. This went on for close to a minute; Ronon pulling knives from various places on his body and stacking them up in front of Marka. At last, Ronon stepped back, a safe distance from the weapons, his eyes locked with Marka's. "Do you really believe that if I didn't think I was right or didn't want to be held prisoner, I would have let you detain me?"

Marka returned Ronon's direct look for a moment, before his gaze fell to the small stack of knives sitting in front of him.

"I could have escaped at any time," Ronon pointed out, his tone confident. "I stayed to prove to you that I was justified, and to prove to you," he turned towards the Satedans, "warrior to warrior, who Kell really was."

John's gaze shifted once again to Narok, who still sat rigid and unmoving. After a moment, Narok bowed his head, In the split second before his face was hidden by the dreads cascading around his face, John saw the impassive mask he wore break, if only a little, as a contemplative look settled on his face and the conflict he felt was evident in his expression.

John glanced at McKay. "Speaking of compelling arguments," he whispered.

"Ronon Dex, defense lawyer. Who knew?" Rodney quipped darkly, his whisper devoid of any humor.

John looked back at the dais as Marka finally spoke.

"Your sense of honor is impressive, Ronon Dex," he picked up one of the knives and stared absently at it, "but that does not change the fact that we have no evidence to prove either story."

"Marka," Teyla smoothly stood and, before John had a chance to stop her, walked up next to Ronon. John was left to watch and wonder what she was going to do.

Teyla's small hand settled on Ronon's bicep for a moment, giving it a reassuring squeeze, before she looked up, cocking her head to make eye contact with Marka. "I have not had the opportunity to present my story."

Marka inhaled deeply and nodded. "Proceed."

She looked over at Ronon, who stared down at her and nodded before returning to his seat.

John's gaze followed him until he was seated but, even though John was sure Ronon knew he was looking at him, Ronon refused to make eye contact. Instead, he stared at his tightly folded hands in his lap.

"It is true," Teyla started, drawing John's attention back to her, "that I did not know what Ronon had planned. It is also true that I was… deeply angered at him for taking advantage of my friendship in such a way." She paused, letting her words sink in, before she turned and faced the hall. "But it is also true that I believed Ronon's explanation without question. He is a member of my team, and would not lie to me. That is a fact that I would stake my life upon… and I have." She stepped down off the dais and walked a few feet towards a group of Satedans. "You have indicated that many of you know of Ronon Dex; know of his reputation and his honor." Her gaze fell on Narok, who slowly looked up at her. "Ronon has told us of the bond Specialists share. With that bond, is there not unquestionable trust?" She took a step closer to him and met his gaze head on. "Kell was Ronon's Task Master. Do you not think that it would take something extraordinary for Ronon to do what he did? To kill his own Task Master? Do you think that bond could be cast aside for anything other than a betrayal of the very core of your beliefs?"

Narok broke gazes with her and silently looked away, his expression distant.

Teyla walked back to the Arbitrators. "The Hethians and Athosians have enjoyed a trusting and mutually beneficial friendship for generations. This I would not casually cast aside for personal gain. I am asking you, as an ally, to believe me when I tell you that Ronon is telling the truth."

Marka's expression was thoughtful. "You speak of trust, Teyla Emmagan, yet you and Ronon Dex both kept this from your own team, people who also trusted you… including your commanding officer."

Teyla sagged slightly. "Yes," she admitted, before turning and looking at John, "we did."

John fought to keep his expression neutral for many reasons, not the least of which was that he had no idea which of the sea of emotions churning inside him would make it to his face. In Teyla's look, he saw pain and remorse but, behind it, a steely resolve. He knew she regretted what she'd done, but still believed it to be the right thing and truthfully, he didn't know what to think about that either.

Teyla broke gazes with him and looked back to Marka. "Colonel Sheppard's people are very different from yours, or mine, or Ronon's," she stated plainly. "As many in this galaxy know, including no doubt your people," she titled her head in Marka's direction, "the colonel's people did not grow up in the shadow of the Wraith. Their culture is unique from any other in this galaxy." Again, she looked back at John. "Colonel Sheppard would have been forced, by the laws of his own people, and by his own code of honor which binds him to uphold those laws, to do things in regards to our actions that he would not have wanted to do, whether he agreed with us or not."

Marka stared at Teyla for a long time before he looked down the line of Arbitrators sitting with him. "If we are in agreement, I would have Colonel Sheppard's thoughts on Teyla Emmagan's testimony." His gaze wandered back up the line as each of the Arbitrators nodded in agreement. He looked towards John. "Colonel John Sheppard. You are not obliged to speak in Judgment, for you do not stand as accused or accuser. But if you wish to address this council, we will listen."

The tension in John's gut intensified. He glanced sideways at Rodney, who arched his brows in a questioning way. John nodded slightly, before he took a deep breath and slowly stood. He walked up next to Teyla and gave her a strained half-smile, which she reciprocated before she returned to her seat.

Standing in front of the dais, John looked up at Marka. His mind was racing as he tried to pull together his thoughts into something coherent. Internally, he had nothing but conflict over the entire circumstance, but his sense of duty to his team overrode that. If he could help get them out of this Judgment, he would, and they'd deal with everything else later, when no one's life was in the balance.

He straightened his shoulders before he began to speak. "I don't know how I feel about all of this," he stated bluntly, electing to stick as close to the truth as he could, "not yet. But that's a little outside of this Judgment." He walked slowly along the dais, still composing his thoughts. "I can tell you one thing though," he stopped and looked up and down the line of Arbitrators, "Teyla has never lied to me." He looked back at her and nodded once. "And I know she never would." He turned his attention back to the arbitrators. "I also know that if she thought what Ronon did was wrong, she would've never stayed silent about it." He pursed his lips and pulled in a deep breath through his nose. "I also know that Ronon is an honorable man." He glanced back again, this time meeting Ronon's gaze. "I'd never have him on my team if I didn't believe that." He fixed Marka with an intense stare. "I don't know what happened on Sateda, but I do know that neither Teyla nor Ronon would lie about it."

He turned around and walked a few steps closer to Narok, not flinching as he met the Satedan's strong gaze. "You escaped with Kell while Ronon was in the middle of the fight." John cocked his head slightly. "Who do you think would know better what really happened in the fall of Sateda?" He arched a brow slightly, before looking back at Marka. "I don't have anything else to add."

Marka's expression was thoughtful. "Is what Teyla Emmagan said true? Are there rules among your people regarding these events that you would have been duty bound to uphold?"

John sighed before he looked away and nodded, unable and unwilling to deny the truth. "Yes."

Marka nodded in return. "Thank you, Colonel John Sheppard. You may be seated."

John walked back to his seat, sparing only a brief glance at Rodney, but catching enough of his measured stare to know that Rodney had something on his mind. John made a slight gesture, cutting off conversation before it started and Rodney, for once, took the cue and remained silent.

Marka sat back in his chair. "This is a difficult Judgment to pass." His expression was respectful as he looked at John. "Your words have merit, Colonel, and this council thanks you for them." He sighed quietly. "Teyla Emmagan and Specialist Ronon Dex's integrity are not in question, but the interpretation of the events surrounding the death of Commander Kell, is." He sat forward. "The council must deliberate on this issue, in order to pass Judgment." Marka stood, only to be stopped by Narok's quiet voice.

"Wait."

Marka slowly sat back down, but his words were curt. "Your time to speak is over, Specialist Narok Marsae."

Narok stood, a determined expression on his face, apparently not caring about what Marka had said. "It doesn't matter," he countered, shaking his head. "I withdraw my accusation."

John sat up straight, exchanging startled looks with his team as mutterings from around the hall grew in volume.

Marka lifted his sticks, striking them together, the loud snap echoing off the high ceilings. "The hall will be silent, or it will be cleared."

The voices died down abruptly, though whispers could still be heard from all corners.

Marka looked back at Narok. "Speak plainly, Specialist Narok Marsea."

Narok pulled his shoulders back, his head held high and proud as he walked over to Ronon and looked down at him. Ronon looked back at him, unmoving, although John could see the tension in him. "I believe there is merit to Ronon Dex's words."

"You did not believe that before," Marka answered. "What has changed?"

"Me," Narok answered simply. "In the eight years since the fall of Sateda, and among the very few survivors I've met, I've never encountered another Specialist. I had forgotten…." He turned and looked at Marka. "I allowed myself to get pulled into anger and mistrust, emotions that have kept the very few of us alive… for good or bad." He walked up to the dais. "But the word of a Specialist is above question." He looked back at Ronon. "Especially to one of their own. This is something Ronon Dex has reminded me of." He spun, his gaze passing over the Satedans lining the hall. "Who among us can be proud to be alive today knowing that our lives might have come at the cost of so many innocents? Who can call themselves Satedan warriors, and yet be satisfied to be alive, rather than among the honored dead who died protecting the defenseless?"

He paused for a moment, giving time for the words sink in, before he went on. "There is nothing we can do for that now, but I will not live in dishonor by seeking vengeance against one who sought justice for the crime." He turned back to Marka. "I withdraw my accusation," he repeated firmly.

"You can't do this!" Jeron shot to his feet.

Narok spun and pinned him with a glare. "Be seated and be silent, Jeron Dor."

John looked back and forth between Narok and Jeron, as a battle of wills silently raged between them. He tensed, preparing for what could be a nasty outcome if neither backed down. _All it takes is one idiot to start the bloodshed…._ John fixed his gaze on Jeron, hoping he wasn't that idiot.

Narok's gaze narrowed and he took a single long step forward. His movement instantly ended the silent fight, though Jeron appeared far from intimidated as he slowly sat down.

"Narok," Marka recaptured the Specialist's attention. "No one may re-accuse either Specialist Ronon Dex or Teyla Emmagan of the crimes they stand accused for, ever again, if you withdraw your complaint. That is the law of our people, and as long as all Satedans live amongst us, that law will be adhered to." He paused, looking around the room at the other Satedans, before addressing Narok once more. "Do you still withdraw your accusation, Specialist Narok Marsea?"

Narok's stare was unwavering as he met gazes with Marka. "Yes."

Marka inclined his head slowly. "Very well." He looked at Ronon and Teyla. "Specialist Ronon Dex, Teyla Emmagan, you are found not guilty and are free to go." He lifted the sticks and cracked them together. "This Judgment is concluded." As one, the arbitrators stood and filed out through a back door in the hall.

John looked over at Teyla. His smile was genuine, if not completely joyful; as she returned his gaze, he knew she saw the conflict in his own expression. The Judgment was behind them, but the issues that had been dragged up were yet to be resolved.

John looked past her and watched as Ronon, who'd finished retrieving his knives, walk over to where Narok sat quietly on the edge of the dais. Very few of the Satedans had left the hall, though the Hethians had all departed quickly. As Rodney made to walk by him, John stood and put out an arm, stopping him. "Give 'em a minute."

Rodney gave him an annoyed look and then nodded. He, John and Teyla stood quietly at a discreet distance from the two Specialists. John couldn't hear what they said to each other, but after a moment, Narok rose and extended his hand. Ronon grasped his forearm firmly and slapped a hard hand on Narok's shoulder. Narok returned the gesture, the sound of flesh meeting flesh echoing around them, making the understanding they'd come to almost tangible.

Ronon turned around, his gaze passing over the remaining Satedans, many of whom nodded and smiled back in acknowledgement.

John's gaze narrowed as he saw that Jeron and a handful of Satedans who stood close to him were not among them. Their expressions far from accepting and John's instincts made him go on point. In his gut, he was pretty certain they weren't ready to let this go. Abruptly, they turned and left the hall, but John saw nothing of acceptance or resolution in any of them.

Tearing his gaze from following them, John turned to Ronon and Narok as they walked over. Narok nodded curtly at him. "Colonel Sheppard. I am sorry for the trouble." He arched a brow in almost a blasé way.

John smiled slightly. "Just glad it's over." He glanced at Ronon, before looking back at Narok. "I have to tell you, I think I like being shoulder to shoulder with a Specialist a lot more than being opposite of one."

Narok's lips split into a genuine smile. "Wise words, Colonel."

John sobered. "Do we have anything to worry about from Jeron?"

Narok's smile faded, but he said confidently, "He is outranked by me, and outnumbered by our people. If he tries something, he will pay for it." He shrugged slightly. "Still, you would do well to watch your backs when you leave the village."

"We can settle this right now," Ronon interrupted, taking a step towards the open door.

"Ronon," John said quietly, "let's try not to piss these people off again, okay?" They'd just got out of one Judgment, and he really wasn't in the mood to find out what punishment the Hethians would invoke for bloodshed outside their Judgment Hall.

Ronon's expression was an odd cross between irritated and placatory as he raised his eyebrows and shrugged. "Just an idea."

"Hmm," Narok agreed, "one with merit, but I see your Colonel's point."

Looking toward the far end of the hall, John saw Nelia was standing patiently in the wide doorway. When he made eye contact with her, she walked up to their group.

"Colonel Sheppard?" She smiled. "Yours and Doctor McKay's weapons await you in the antechamber, along with those belonging to Ronon Dex and Teyla Emmagan. You are all free to go."

"Nelia," Teyla stepped forward, "we came here to talk to Marka about… a variety of topics. May we still speak with him?"

Nelia shook her head. "Not at this time. Marka believes it is better if you leave now and return another day, to allow the outcome of Judgment to… settle."

Teyla inclined her head. "That is wise. Please pass on our best to Marka, and word that we will return, as friends, another time."

Nelia smiled. "I will." She opened her arm, gesturing towards the antechamber. "This way, please." John's team, with Narok alongside them, fell in behind her as she starting walking back towards the door.

Outside, in the antechamber, John was relieved to find his and Rodney's weapons right where they'd left them, along with Ronon's blaster and the couple of knives he'd surrendered, and Teyla's weapons as well.

Quietly, they all geared up, as did Narok, after retrieving his gun from the attendant. John's hand settled on his P-90 hanging from his vest, reassured by the feel of it, as they walked out of the hall and into the sunshine.

"Well," Rodney's voice was laced with cynicism, "this was a lovely afternoon excursion."

John glanced at Narok, and saw he was staring at Rodney with a narrow gaze. "Don't mind him." John motioned his head at Rodney when Narok looked at him. "He gets cranky sometimes. We'll smack him back inline later."

"Oh ha, ha, ha," Rodney snapped back.

The confusion on Narok's face was replaced with mild amusement for a moment, before his expression turned more serious. "I think I'll accompany you back to the Ancestral Ring, Colonel. Ronon and I can talk, and it would help to make sure no one gives you any trouble."

John nodded and started across the village square towards the path leading to the gate. "Thanks." He looked around, meeting gazes with whomever he could, Satedan or Hethian, and was relieved that no one returned his look with anything close to anger or suspicion. As they reached the village and headed down the dirt path between the fields, John looked back at Narok, who was walking next to Ronon. "Narok, are we going to have anything to worry about, the next time we come back to this planet?"

"Like pissed off Satedans waiting to kill us the moment we come through the gate?" Rodney added tersely.

"No," Narok's voice was confident. "I'll make sure Jeron knows to let the matter drop. This is the end of it, Colonel. You have my word."

John nodded. "Thanks." He refocused his attention forward. There wasn't much else he could say. He wasn't about to question Narok's word, but at the same time, he wasn't completely convinced that Narok could deliver on his promise. He knew that the next time they came back here, he'd be on his guard.

Continuing toward the gate, his mind wandered to his Pegasus teammates. He'd gained a lot of perspective, as facts and events had been revealed in the Judgment, but part of him still felt betrayed. His confidence, especially in Ronon had been shaken, and he knew that alone could be dangerous in a team that absolutely had to be cohesive…

His thoughts were derailed as, behind him, he heard Teyla take in a sharp breath.

"Colonel."

John halted in his tracks and turned, seeing she'd also stopped. He furrowed his brows at her. "What is it?" His grip instinctively tightened on his gun.

"Listen," she urged quietly.

John cocked his head, but was only met with silence. "I don't hear anything." He looked back at her, suddenly feeling uncomfortably exposed in the large plain, the gate still a fair distance away.

"That is correct," she answered. "The insects. They are quiet."

"Bugs?" Rodney interrupted. "We're worried about a lack of bugs?"

"Didn't say they weren't there." Ronon walked up next to Teyla, his hand resting on his gun, Narok right with him. "Just that they're not making any noise."

"What the hell does that mean?" Rodney demanded. He fell silent as John pierced him with a glare.

"McKay," John fought the urge to lift his gun, "didn't you ever hunt crickets when you were a kid? They make noise until you get close to them, and then they're silent. Doesn't matter what galaxy you're in, bugs are bugs, and they all react to danger the same."

"We are being watched," Teyla affirmed.

She'd barely got the words out when Ronon roared, "Down!" as he drew his gun.

John's reaction was instantaneous; even as he dropped to the ground, he saw several Satedans, firing weapons, jump up from where they'd been hidden in the tall grass. He reached up and grabbed Rodney's arm to haul him downward. Rodney's strangled grunt, followed by his body falling like a stone, his arm ripping from John's grasp, told John he'd been half second too late.

"McKay!" John rolled himself closer to Rodney as Teyla, Ronon and Narok returned fire. Rodney's eyes were wide, and sweat was already beading on his face. John looked down and saw Rodney's right hand was grabbing at a glistening hole in his TAC vest just above his gun belt. Bright red blood smeared over Rodney's fingers.

Two more inches to the right and the bullet would've just grazed Rodney. As it was…. "Damn it." John put his hand over Rodney's, stilling it, and pressed down firmly, wincing at Rodney's hoarse cry. "Easy buddy." John reached into his vest, pulled out a bandage, tore it open and slid it under Rodney's hand, before he pushed down on Rodney's knuckles. He locked gazes with him. "Hold it there, McKay. You understand?"

Rodney's nod was jerky, but John felt his hand tighten around the bandage.

Even as he did what he could for Rodney, he was aware of gunshots echoing around them and he knew they'd need every gun if they were going to survive the ambush, especially with Rodney out of the picture. And while he hated that he didn't have time to properly field dress the wound, he knew didn't have a choice. The only thing keeping any of them alive at the moment was return fire against the Satedans. If they didn't get the upper hand before their ammo ran out, none of them—including Rodney—would stand a chance.

John rolled away, anger fueling his adrenaline. He listened, waiting for a slight lull the in gunfire, before he pushed himself into a crouch and zeroed in on the first target he spotted: a flash of color in the grass. He fired on it and was rewarded with a strangled cry as one of their attackers went down. He flattened himself in the dirt again, as his actions drew gunfire, and took the chance to looked over at Teyla, a short distance away.

"Rodney?"

John could hear the worry in her voice, even over the gunfire, and he let his own concern permeate his expression, just for a moment, before he looked past Teyla to Ronon.

The Satedan's fierce expression grabbed his attention as Ronon shouted, "Jeron! It's me you want! The others have nothing to do with this!"

Abruptly, the gunfire ceased. John fought the urge not to jump up and fire on any target he could find. They had to find a way out of this, but he knew they were outgunned, so shooting their way to the gate wasn't his first choice.

"Surrender, Ronon Dex!" Jeron's unmistakable voice answered Ronon's hail. "And the others can go!"

"Jeron, you dishonorable bastard!" Narok was the one who answered. "I'll cut your heart out when I get my hands on you!"

"This is between us and Ronon, Narok," Jeron yelled. "Stay out of it!"

"You fired on me!" Narok shot back. "That makes it my business, or have you forgotten that I outrank you and ordered you to abide by the Judgment?"

John used the lull of the exchange of words to look back at Rodney. "McKay? How you holdin' up?"

"How do I look like… I'm holding up?" Rodney managed to get out through clenched teeth. "Doctor… Rodney McKay…. Bled to death during a Satedan… pissing match!"

John's worry was tempered, if only slightly, by Rodney's ability to still produce a cranky and mostly lucid response, but it didn't mean he wasn't in serious trouble. John focused his attention back on Narok and Ronon. While he wasn't sure that Narok making Jeron even angrier was a good idea—although Narok's anger was entirely understandable—it did mean that, right now, Jeron was talking and it was buying them time to find some way… any way to get out of this, even if John had no clue what. And Rodney's wound meant they were on a clock.

John saw Ronon put a hand on Narok's arm. "Let me settle it," Ronon said quietly, his gaze locked with Narok, "warrior to warrior. Jeron's grievance is with me. I can end it here."

John stiffened as the implication of what Ronon was saying hit home. "Ronon?"

Ronon looked across at him. "It'll be okay, Sheppard."

"We are not leaving you here," Teyla protested.

A slow smile formed on Ronon's mouth. "I'm not asking you to."

John's brows knitted in confusion. "Then what…?"

Ronon ignored him. Instead, he lifted his head and shouted, "Jeron! I'm claiming the right of Hasak! One-on-one combat to end this once and for all!"

John's mind raced. _One-on-one combat? What…?_ "Don't," he whispered emphatically at Ronon. The Satedan spared him a glance, but apparently wouldn't be deterred. "Jeron!" he shouted again. "Resolve this with honor! If I win, we leave and the matter is settled, once and for all."

"What if I win?" Jeron answered.

"Then you will have your retribution," Ronon replied, his expression dark.

"Ronon…" John again tried to protest, but his voice trailed off as Ronon gave him an intense stare.

"How much time do you think McKay really has?" Ronon pointed out quietly. "And do you really think we can fight our way to the gate?"

John clenched his teeth, his lips pressed into a thin line. He knew Ronon was right, and Ronon knew it too. He looked away.

"Thought so." Ronon's tone was grim.

"Thank you so much… for that inspiring… sentiment." Rodney's words were slightly slurred, but were still terse.

John squinted over at him. "McKay?"

"Still here…," Rodney managed, "in spite of Conan's… lack of… confidence…."

There was still no reply from Jeron to Ronon's challenge, and John took advantage of the lull to scoot through the dirt back over to Rodney. Looking down at the blood soaked bandage, he drew in a breath but tried to keep his expression neutral. Fishing out a second bandage from Rodney's TAC vest, he laid it over the soaked one, before shifting Rodney's body so he could work the bandage around his torso.

"Ah! Damn it, Colonel!" Rodney tensed as John moved him.

John ignored his protest. "Buck up, McKay, it's just a scratch." He put as much confidence behind the lie as he could muster as he tightened the bandage. Fastening it off, he looked back at Ronon and Narok.

"Right." Rodney didn't sound convinced. "A… scratch."

"Jeron!" Ronon shouted again.

Narok shook his head. "He's not going to get into a one-on-one fight with a Specialist. Especially if he has the advantage."

"He has to," Ronon growled. "He may not have honor, but those with him must." He gave Narok a hard look. "Right?"

Narok stared back for a moment, before nodding. "Yes."

"Then if he says no, he's not really strong enough to lead them, is he?" Ronon pointed out.

"You have given him no choice." Teyla nodded at Ronon approvingly.

Ronon's only response was a half smile. If the situation hadn't been so grave, John would've smiled himself. He settled for being impressed at Ronon's quick thinking. He decided he'd be even more impressed if Ronon survived…, Hell, if they all did.

"Decide, Jeron!" Ronon called again. "Or are you sacred?" Dark amusement flooded his expression as he purposely goaded his would-be opponent.

There was movement in the grass. "I accept your challenge!" Jeron called back.

Ronon began to get to his knees but Narok's hand stopped him.

"Have care," Narok warned. "He's not a Specialist, but he's very good."

Ronon nodded once, before he stood, Narok right with him.

John pushed himself up to a kneeling position, staying close to Rodney and keeping pressure on his wound, even as his right hand settled on his holstered Glock. Around him he could see Satedans stand up, showing themselves in the long grass. John looked at Ronon as he unbuckled his gun holster and handed it to Narok. "Ronon?" he called quietly.

Ronon walked over to them and knelt on the other side of Rodney. Putting his hand on Rodney's shoulder, he caught Rodney's eye and held it, almost like he was giving Rodney some of his strength right through their locked gazes. John saw his hand tighten on Rodney's shoulder. "Have you home before you know it," he promised Rodney softly, before he looked up at John and nodded once.

Standing, he walked towards Jeron, who waited stiffly a short distance away. Teyla's hand on his arm stopped him. "Be careful," she said quietly. Ronon acknowledged it with another nod before. he walked over to Jeron and stood facing him, only a few feet separating them.

John glanced down at Rodney's glassy eyes for a moment before, sighing deeply, he returned his attention to Ronon and Jeron.

"The rules of Hasak are simple." Narok's voice was stern and carried to everyone observing. "One blade of choice, no other weapons. The fight ends when one is dead, and not before."

From among the mass of dreads on his head, Ronon pulled a narrow blade and held it expertly in his right hand. Jeron in turn drew a blade from the sheath at his side similar in size to the knife John carried.

"Begin." Narok stepped back as Ronon and Jeron slowly circled each other.

John's gaze narrowed as he watched with as much expertise as he could muster. He wasn't a slouch at fighting with a knife –the Air Force had made sure of that before he was allowed on half the missions he'd managed to survive –but he also knew, from sparring with Ronon that his skills were barely more than amateur in comparison. He knew without a doubt that Ronon was good; what worried him was how good Jeron was.

Jeron struck first: a slash at Ronon's midsection that Ronon easily stepped away from before he spun and whipped his blade towards Jeron's shoulder. The strike leader rolled, momentarily lost in the tall grass, before he sprang to his feet. Again, the two men circled each other.

"How's… he doing?" Rodney asked quietly.

"Round one's a draw," John muttered. "Jeron's good."

"But Ronon's… better… right?" Rodney asked, his voice weak.

John glanced down at him for a fleeting second. "Sure." He watched as this time Ronon struck first.

Jeron parried Ronon's blow, and John squinted trying to follow the furry of blows that followed, each of them meeting the other's attacks. Suddenly, Jeron got a foot between them and planted it in Ronon's gut, sending him sprawling.

John tensed, stretching upwards as he tried to spot Ronon, who disappeared in the tall grass. He didn't have to wait long: suddenly Ronon reappeared, rolling to his feet in a seemingly effortless move.

"John?" Rodney's voice was weak.

"They're still at it," John answered tensely, while his gaze remained fixed on the fight.

Ronon closed again, taking a swipe at Jeron's head with his blade. Jeron parried the move easily, but the instant knife met knife, Ronon swept his leg behind Jeron's, causing him to sprawl backwards, his balance and defenses gone. Ronon wasted no time. With a twist of his wrist, he swiftly knocked the knife from Jeron's grasp. Ronon grabbed Jeron by the neck with his free hand, right before he buried his blade to the hilt in Jeron's gut, just below his sternum.

Jeron tensed, a strangled, breathless cry escaping him, before he crumpled silently; dead weight against Ronon's solid form. Without looking down, Ronon pulled his bloodied knife free and stepped back, dumping Jeron's body unceremoniously to the ground. His breaths came deep and fast, while his gaze jumped from one of Jeron's men to another, but none of them moved.

Narok silently walked up to Jeron's body, knelt and rolled him over. After a quick examination, he stood. "Jeron is dead. Hasak is complete," Narok's raised voice carried over all of them. "By Satedan tradition, the matter is settled."

John tore his gaze from Ronon and watched, as each of Jeron's men slowly holstered their weapons, before he looked at Teyla as she came and knelt next to him. "Bandage." His demand was short, as he turned his attention back to Rodney's half closed eyes. "McKay? Rodney? Come on, buddy, stay with me here."

"… present…" Rodney whispered.

"Good." John lifted Rodney slightly to let Teyla wrap another bandage around him and tie it tightly, putting as much pressure on the wound as she could. As she worked, John glanced over his shoulder at one of Jeron's men. "Are there any more surprises waiting for us between here and the gate?" he snapped.

The man shook his head. "No, Colonel."

John looked to Narok who nodded.

"You can take him at his word, Colonel."

John turned back to Teyla. "Get to the gate, radio for help. Go!"

Teyla nodded once and sprang to her feet, taking off at a swift run down the path.

Narok waved towards the village, his gaze passing over all of Jeron's men. "Return! And leave your vengeance behind!" He continued glaring while two of the men retrieved Jeron's body and they all slowly walked back towards the village.

Ronon hurried over to John and Rodney, wiping his bloody hand on his pant leg. He knelt and looked down at Rodney. "I can carry him."

"No," John answered immediately. "He's not stable enough to move without medical care." He poked Rodney's shoulder. "McKay! Come on you grumpy bastard, stay awake."

"Who… callin'… grumpy…." Rodney slurred quietly.

"You," John answered, "but I would've thought you'd object to being called a bastard more than grumpy." He hoped the dark quip would keep Rodney engaged.

"Badge… of honor," Rodney answered.

"Only you would call that a badge of honor," John shot back. His gaze narrowed as Rodney's barely parted eyelids fluttered, then closed. "Rodney?" He poked him in the shoulder. "Hey!" He poked harder. "McKay, answer me damn it!" His hand flew to Rodney's neck, probing for a pulse. Rodney's eyes remained shut, but John found the unmistakable tattoo fluttering against his fingers, though it was faint and fast. He let out a relieved breath, looked at Ronon and nodded, his hand never leaving Rodney's throat.

Narok walked up, standing at Rodney's feet. "He's strong?"

Ronon beat John to a reply. "Yep."

John stared at Ronon, a glimmer of approval striking through his worry. He wasn't sure how that fit with everything else he was feeling, but he pushed aside examining it all for a later time, letting the urgency of Rodney's condition remain his only focus. "He'll hang on until our people get here," John assured Narok, backing up Ronon's reply with a healthy dose of positive thinking of his own as he refused to consider the real possibility that Rodney could bleed to death before Carson and help arrived. He looked back at Rodney's pale face. "C'mon, McKay," he muttered. He tried to focus on the flutter of life under the fingers of his left hand resting on Rodney's neck, and ignore the wet warmness spreading under his right palm as blood seeped through the latest bandage.

"Sheppard," Ronon started quietly, "I'm sorry…."

John's head jerked up, letting his expression showing the intensity of his feelings. . Right now, nothing else mattered but getting Rodney back to Atlantis alive, and he refused to spare any thought for anything else. "Not now!" he snapped, ending the conversation. He continued to glare at Ronon until the Satedan nodded and looked away. Silently, John refocused his gaze on Rodney, even as he leaned forward slightly so he could put more pressure on the wound and try to slow the bleeding. "Damn it, where's that help?" he complained.

"The Hethians could be brought to assist," Narok answered quietly, "but I don't believe they would be able to do much more than this."

John nodded in agreement. "He needs our doctors." As if on cue, a familiar sound grabbed his attention. Looking up, he saw a jumper headed straight for them.

"Fast." Ronon sounded impressed.

John nodded absently. Teyla must've really hoofed it to the gate and Atlantis' response had been equally fast; an efficiency that could likely save Rodney's life.

The jumper had barely settled to the ground before the back hatch lowered. Carson and a medical team were the first to jump to the ground, running towards them, with Teyla right behind them.

"Gunshot." John moved out of Carson's way. "Tried to slow the bleeding as much as we could."

"Aye," Carson answered. "Good thing you didn't move him. It could've killed him."

John slowly stood, his cramped legs protesting as he stepped back to give Carson's team room to work on stabilizing Rodney. He felt Ronon's gaze on him and, for a moment, he resisted, but finally he looked at his team mate.

Ronon's look was neutral, as if he wasn't sure where things stood, and was waiting for a cue from John… a cue John didn't have.

John took a deep breath and looked away from Ronon again, to where Carson's team was lifting Rodney onto a stretcher. As they carried him towards the jumper, John spared a moment to look at Narok. "Thanks."

Narok nodded back. "I hope your friend recovers."

Ronon quickly grasped forearms with Narok as John turned away andfollowed the stretcher into the jumper. He, John avoided Teyla's gaze as well. He couldn't deal with either of his teammates right now, not while the third clung to life. As the jumper lifted off and headed for the gate, John resolutely kept his attention forward, staring out through the jumper's windshield, never looking back.

* * *

Perched on the edge of his bunk, John absently picked at the strings on his guitar, the random notes echoing faintly from the high ceiling of his quarters. He felt wrung out and tired, but tension kept him from sleeping. After spending six hours in the infirmary before Carson could tell him, with confidence, that Rodney would recover, he'd debriefed, in private at his request, with Elizabeth and brought her up to speed on everything that had happened. She'd expressed the same concerns he felt, but had left it up to him, as team leader, to decide Ronon and Teyla's future, or lack of, on his team.

John sighed, his fingers shifting from plucking strings to tapping absently on the guitar, the hollow beat replacing the fractured music. In a way, he almost wished Elizabeth had taken that decision on herself, instead of leaving it to him. Deep down, though, he knew that wouldn't have resolved his conflict, regardless of what decision she made.

His hand stilled and he leaned on the guitar. He'd kept talking to Teyla and Ronon to a bare minimum in the infirmary, mostly to avoid questions he didn't have answers to… not yet, anyway. The Hethian Judgment had given him a lot to think about; given him the other side of a complicated picture. He couldn't yet reconcile that side and his own feelings as he turned them over in his own mind.

Lost in his thoughts he almost didn't hear his door chime, and it took a second chime for him to finally act. Setting the guitar aside, he walked to the door and swiped his hand over the control crystal. When the door opened, he blinked hard, not sure he was seeing what he thought he was.

"Do I look that strange to you, my friend?" Kelin's expression was a little bemused.

John shook his head and stepped back. "No, I… I just didn't expect to see you. Come in." He waved Kelin into his quarters, turning and watching him as the door slid shut. "I don't remember seeing you scheduled to come in from the mainland."

Kelin stopped in the center of the room, turned and faced him. "This was not a planned trip." He cocked his head slightly. "But after receiving a message from Teyla that was… confusing, I thought it prudent to visit."

John stiffened slightly, his instincts sharpening as he realized where this conversation was headed. "She told you," he stated quietly.

Kelin nodded, though his expression remained neutral. "Yes, though not at first. Halling and I were… surprised when she sent word that she might be leaving Atlantis and your team to return to our people permanently. That prompted me to ask Dr. Weir for transportation to Atlantis." He took a step closer to John. "Tell me what has happened, John."

John quirked a brow and looked away. "I would've sworn that you'd drug the whole story out of her by now," he quipped darkly.

Faint amusement colored Kelin's expression. "Yes. She has told me. But I wish to hear it in your words as well."

John's gaze sobered. "She and Ronon kept that entire incident from the rest of the team, and that could've gotten us all killed." He turned away, picked up his guitar and placed it back in its stand. As he brushed a hand over the top of the guitar, he could feel Kelin's gaze on his back.

"So you will dismiss her from your team then?"

John's shoulders sagged. He let his hand fell away from the guitar. "I don't know," he admitted softly.

"I would have thought that would be a given," Kelin answered. "I know you, my friend. Betrayal of trust is not something you forgive lightly or easily."

"She wouldn't have kept quiet if she'd thought Ronon's actions were wrong," John countered, his voice still quiet. He stared at the wall, fighting the conflict inside of him, unwilling to look back at his friend.

He heard Kelin move closer. "That is correct." Kelin's response was confident. "So then, the question really is: Did she betray your trust, or act in accordance with her beliefs?"

John scrutinized the wall with even greater intensity. "I don't know," he admitted bitterly.

"That is a promising answer, John."

John blinked and slowly turned to face Kelin. "Want to run that by me again?"

Kelin smiled slightly, in an almost tolerant way. "When you work with someone closely and every day, it is easy to forget that your cultures and ways of life are vastly different." He walked up to John. "And that lapse is not just on your part." His brows quirked. "You offended Teyla several times early on, John. Not intentionally of course."

Again, John blinked and then blinked again trying to process what Kelin was saying and trying to figure out when, exactly, he'd offended her. "She never said anything." His tone was bewildered.

Kelin's small smile persisted. "Not to you. She spoke to Halling, myself…. Charin," Kelin's smile faded and sadness permeated his expression, if only briefly. John knew the recent loss of Charin still pained him and he felt his own pangs of sorrow as well. Apparently shaking off those thoughts, Kelin took a deep breath. "She learned to embrace and understand the differences between our peoples, John; to be able to tell the difference between something misunderstood and something meant to offend her."

John returned Kelin's direct gaze for a moment, before he walked over to the large window, overlooking the East Pier. His gaze fixed on the distant tower. "I hear what you're saying, Kelin." His gaze never wavered as he heard Kelin approach.

"But you are still uncertain?" Kelin also admired the scenery.

John glanced sideways at him. "Crazy as it is, more so about Teyla than about Ronon." He shrugged. "In Ronon's place, I think I would've done the same thing."

"But not Teyla?" Kelin asked quietly. "Consider her position, John. She did not know what Ronon intended to do, but was left to deal with the aftermath." Kelin's gaze never left the distant pier. "Teyla has told me much of your military culture, and of the value you place on team cohesion and trust." He paused a moment. "And there is much that I have learned from you directly. Was this a matter of keeping something from you, or was it one team member looking out for the other?" Kelin turned and looked John squarely in the eye. "And I do not mean just Ronon, but you. Was she misleading you, or protecting you?"

John met Kelin's gaze for a moment, and then he looked back out the window, his eyes narrowing as he considered Kelin's words. Teyla had been with them long enough to know just how things ran in Atlantis, and to know that if she'd told him what had happened, that she would've put him in a position of choosing between his duty and his team. Between reporting and acting on what Ronon had done and protecting Ronon from the IOA, and being barred from Atlantis. Between the honor he derived from doing his duty to his country and the honor he got from fulfilling his duty to his team… both of which were important to him. Teyla's actions had ensured that he didn't have to make those difficult choices. But in a moment of clarity, John knew which decision he would've made. He would've protected his team… and dealt with the stiff consequences of his choice. He'd always said the team had to be absolutely committed to each other; that cohesion had kept them alive more than once. This just wasn't what he'd ever had in mind when he'd thought about team loyalty… but that didn't make her actions any less valid.

Once again, John glanced at Kelin. He seemed perfectly content to continue to admire the view, but John knew him well enough to know that he'd had said what he wanted to, and had left John to work it out in his head. "If anything," John said quietly, "I should blame Ronon for putting all of us in this position."

"Including Teyla," Kelin pointed out.

"Including Teyla," John agreed. He shook his head and sighed deeply. "But I can't blame Ronon, not after everything that happened to him because of Kell."

Slowly, Kelin nodded. "Trust is important to both our peoples, John, but in this galaxy, trust is vital. People must trust their neighbors, friends, families and tribes. It is the only way to survive as a people, against the Wraith. Generations of cullings have bred that into almost every population I have ever encountered." He looked at John. "Ronon's betrayal by Kell must speak strongly to you, as a man of integrity. But from the perspective of a culture in this galaxy, it is stronger than I think even you can see. The Hethians understood this."

"So did Narok," John muttered and Kelin nodded.

"In the end, yes."

John inhaled deeply as he forced himself to shift perspectives; to look at Teyla's actions through the eyes of her culture. His mind quickly drew parallels to his own experiences. He realized that was maybe something he could use as common ground between them. Slowly, a small smile formed on his face as the conflict within him faded. "Thank you." He turned his smile onto Kelin, who returned it.

"All I did was give you a different perspective, John. You made up your own mind."

John arched an eyebrow at him. "You never do just that, Kelin," he teased lightly.

Kelin chuckled, his gaze turning slightly mischievous but he didn't reply. Instead he patted John's upper arm a couple times and simply remarked, "You do not come visit us on the mainland nearly enough, my friend."

John chortled. "I'll try to fix that."

"Do," Kelin answered. "You have been missed." With that, Kelin turned and walked towards the door.

"Kelin?" John's hail stopped the Athosian, and he turned back to face John. John held his warm smile. "Thanks." He quirked his brows. "Spar later? Got some moves Ronon showed me."

Kelin's eyes widened slightly, and his expression took on a challenging look. "I look forward to it." He nodded once and left the room.

John stared at the closed door for a moment, before he grabbed his gun holster. He had a couple teammates he needed to find and talk to, and it couldn't and shouldn't wait until later.

* * *

John didn't know what drew him to the mess hall, but he was satisfied to immediately spot both Ronon and Teyla the moment he walked in. They were seated at a small table, removed from most of the evening crowd. Both had plates of food in front of them but, from the looks of the plates and the way their heads were close in intense conversation, it seemed neither of them were eating. John drew in a deep breath and walked towards them, holding as relaxed and friendly an expression as he could.

Ronon had his back to John, so Teyla spotted him first. She did a slight double take and straightened in her chair, causing Ronon to twist around to see what had caught her attention.

John turned slightly and walked up to the table, making sure he stayed an equal distance between them. "Hi," he said quietly.

"Sheppard." Ronon's voice was low and tense.

"Colonel." Teyla's tone was equally strained.

John's brows rose slightly, but undeterred, he plowed forward. "We need to talk," he said plainly, before looking around the busy mess, "but not here." His gaze flicked between them, and he saw them exchange slightly surprised and uncertain looks, before they stood up. John smiled thinly at them. "Come on." He walked towards the exit, confident that both were right behind him.

No one said a word as he led them through the busy corridors to the first exterior door that he encountered. Swiping his hand over the door crystal, he led them out onto one of the several large balconies ringing the control tower. He walked its length, their footfalls and the whisper of the breeze the only sounds that accompanied him. Reaching the railing, he stopped, turned and looked both of them in the eye.

"You kickin' us off the team?" Ronon stared straight back at him.

John couldn't help but cock a brow at him. _Leave it to Ronon to take the direct approach._ He pressed his lips together for a moment, before shaking his head. "No."

This time, it was Ronon's turn to raise his brows, though for him it was surprise rather than amusement.

John looked over at Teyla, but she was much harder to read: her face was a mask of neutrality and for a second, John was glad he'd never found himself in a trading negotiation with her… or a game of poker, for that matter. He pulled in a deep breath. "Okay," he started, trying to figure out how to talk this out, "I won't lie to either of you and say I wasn't pissed as hell at first."

"We know that, Sheppard," Ronon answered coolly.

John paused and stared at him, feeling slightly irritated. True, he'd come to understand both Ronon and Teyla's position; true, he'd been less than nice about all of this in the beginning. But if he was going to be willing to meet them half way, then Ronon needed to as well.

"Ronon," Teyla interjected quietly.

John kept staring at Ronon, until the Satedan looked over at Teyla and caught her slightly reproachful expression. He looked back at John, the anger dissolving from his eyes, and nodded once.

John turned and looked out over the ocean as he tried to figure out how to say what he needed to say. Kelin's wisdom still stuck with him, and he let his mind go back, calling on memories and experiences of his own, parallels he hadn't drawn until now. "You both know I fought in a war before I was shipped to Antarctica," he started, easing into the conversation. He didn't have to look behind to know both of them would be nodding in acknowledgement. He'd spoken of Afghanistan before. "My second year there, one of the pilots in my unit was shot down. Command mobilized immediately to extract him, but when we found his crashed bird, he and his crew were gone. Taliban got there first." John's gaze grew distant as he remembered. "Intelligence and other special ops teams were all over the area by the time we got there. One of the teams was led by Major Shapiro; he and I did several ops together before the war. He pulled me aside and told me exactly where Dixon and his men were… and that, given what he knew about the Taliban in the area, they wouldn't be there for long. If a rescue was going to happen, it had to happen right then. Shapiro and his guys had other things going on, stuff he couldn't tell me about, but they couldn't get involved." John shrugged, "I didn't ask how he knew that, and with intelligence and covert ops, sometimes its better that you don't." John's gaze narrowed. Even four years removed from the incident, he still felt the resolution that had guided his decision in that moment. "I was the senior officer on site and I trusted Shapiro, so I made the call to go after Dixon and his team."

His expression serious, John turned around and looked square at Ronon. "The proper course of action would've been for Shapiro, or even me, to get this intelligence to command and let them decide how to act, but Shapiro and I both knew that process would take too long. He would've never come to me, off the record, with the intel, if he'd thought we had the time for command to figure out what they wanted to do and how they wanted to do it. Both of us were bucking procedure, possibly even risking our careers, and we knew it… but the lives of Dixon's team hung in the balance." His gaze narrowed. "And what I decided to do was the right decision, regardless of the rules and every one of my guys knew what we were getting into before we did it." John drew in a deep breath. "We got Dixon's team out, not one casualty… on our side anyway. But if there had been, I would've had to own up to everything."

John leaned back resting his hands on the top bar of the railing. "But it went off without a hitch so…." He shrugged. "I never told my CO the details. None of us did. We came back with Dixon and his team," John let intensity darken his features, "and there were that many less Taliban in the region to fight." He turned his head, his gaze travelling up a nearby city spire. "The ends justified the means, and if my CO had known the whole truth, whether he agreed with us or not, there would've been hell to pay, for me, Shapiro and everyone involved. The fact that we saved Dixon's team wouldn't have changed that."

John sucked in a deep breath and met Ronon's gaze. "What Kell did to you, to all of Sateda…." His voice trailed off and he shook his head as he was forced to put a face on the darker side of his persona. "In your place," he admitted quietly but intensely, "I probably would've done the same thing."

Ronon's gaze narrowed slightly, as if he was measuring up John's words, and whether he truly meant them, but John knew it wasn't an issue of trust. Rather, it was about whether or not Ronon believed he had the mettle to follow through on his words. After a long moment, the measured look on Ronon's face was replaced with an accepting one and he nodded.

"Next time though," John added, "tell us what's going on. You're not fighting alone anymore, Ronon. We're your team and we got your back, okay?"

Ronon smiled, just a little. "I will."

John let one side of his mouth turn up slightly. It wasn't a smile of joy or happiness, but one of recognition that the two of them had come to an understanding about each other that would only strengthen their friendship and the team.

John held his half smile as he looked at Teyla, determined to break through her neutral mask, if even just a little, so he could get some kind of read on what she was thinking.

After a moment, Teyla graced him with a thin smile of her own, her lips pressed together. The smile was guarded, but still an olive branch, and John took it. "I think I've been unfair to you," he said quietly, but Teyla shook her head.

"No," she countered. "We were wrong to keep this from you."

"Maybe," John shrugged, "but I think I understand why. We're a team and we cover each other's backs." He'd already said that to Ronon, but it was worth repeating. "You covered Ronon's and… you covered mine."

"I shouldn't have put her in that spot," Ronon interjected.

John met his gaze and held it. "No, you shouldn't have," he answered. "And I'll bet Teyla let you know that in no uncertain terms?" They both looked at Teyla, who arched a cold brow at Ronon, before Ronon looked back at John, grimaced and nodded.

"Yeah, she did."

If the moment hadn't been so serious, John would've chuckled. Teyla spent so much time being even-tempered and understanding that it was easy to forget that she was also a warrior… something she was fully capable of reminding any of them of should the need arise. He looked back at Teyla, pouring as much sincerity into his expression as he could. "I'm sorry," he said quietly, "but I'm going to tell you the same thing I told Ronon: We're a team. I need you to talk to me about these things. The rules are a little different here. We've got the benefit of thousands of light years of separation. We'll find a way to work it out, okay?"

Teyla slowly smiled and nodded. "Agreed." She stepped forward and put her hands on John's shoulders, a pose he recognized all too well. He returned the gesture and gently touched foreheads with her. "I believe we have reached an understanding, John."

John lifted his head, let go of her and stepped back. "We have." He looked over at Ronon. "Haven't we?"

Ronon smiled and extended his arm. John grasped his forearm firmly for a minute, before letting go. "So," he took a deep breath, "tell me about the Specialists. Just do it on the way to the Infirmary. I want to check in on Rodney."

Ronon's face lit up – well, as much as Ronon's face ever was animated – as he started talking about Satedan Specialists and the bonds of honor that they shared.

Inwardly, John took a moment to berate himself for not asking Ronon about Satedan culture before. That was something, he decided, as they re-entered the control tower, he'd rectify. Still, he couldn't help but smile as he walked towards the infirmary, Teyla on his right and Ronon on his left.

"… and then there's the Festival of Morgost." Ronon shook his head in amusement.

"Morgost?" John questioned.

"Mid year's day," Ronon explained. "It's was a tradition among the Specialists and most of the Satedan military to drink as much ale as you could take on that day. One year, I woke up the next morning in the field across from the barracks, naked and with no memory how I got there."

John winced. "Buddy," he protested, "do I really want to hear this?" But the sound of Teyla's laughter from beside him was infectious, and he found himself chuckling at the thought, and relishing the rightness of it all.

~The End~

* * *

_This story is for the Live Journal charity auction "Help Haiti!" and for the Live Journal user Susnn who so generously donated money to the cause by purchasing a story written by me. I'm humbled that someone would pay money to have me write a story and honored to write one for such a worthy cause. Thanks for your patience as I sought to balance RL with writing this story, I __**really**__ hope you enjoy it! _

_Huge thanks to my fantastic beta reader, TanaquiSGA for taking time out of her busy schedule to beta read this story for me. Also for her great conversations about the team, cultures and honor as I worked out this story to write it._


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